


The Science of Self

by ultravisceral



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, Eventual Smut, Fanfic, Fanfiction, Fluff, Frerard, Gay, Happy Ending, Hurt, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Hospitals, Mental Illnesses, PTSD, Romance, Sadness, Schizophrenia, happiness, my chemical romance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4512405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultravisceral/pseuds/ultravisceral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They tried to bribe me with skittles. Skittles!” Frank joked, giggling and smiling with a set of white teeth which reflected the light from the window. “You should smile more often.” Gerard blurted, though not regretting it, he was just being honest, after all. Frank raised his eyebrow in a questioning manor, looking back at him with wonderset eyes too. “You look beautiful when you smile, you have a nice smile, and you need to show it more.” Gerard complimented, voice sincere and terribly true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Science of Self

They tell you it’s necessary you conquer your inner demons, all your fears, before you die, but there was a difference when everything you fear is combined into one deadly monster. According to the records, before Gerard arrived at Gateway, he was studying for his degree in neuroscience, before he disappeared one night and was found on the outskirts of New Jersey. He had been severely beaten, given lethal doses of amphetamines to make his body subjective to his captors. What had happened while he was unconscious was still yet to be discovered. 

At Gateway they had diagnosed him with schizophrenia and post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which lead to commonly violent incidents. Gerard didn’t have access to the rest of the information the institute had been storing concerning him over the years, but he knew there must have been an overflowing amount by now, considering the duration of time he had spent in the facility. He had been in professional treatment for approximately five years, in which he had seen multiple doctors and staff come and go. After several referrals for transfer, and several refusals to be transferred, he was finally going to see the outdoors of the building, the building in which they kept him for many years. 

But it wasn’t today this would happen, it was due to happen in three days time, but Gerard couldn’t imagine the true length of three days trapped within the white walls, anymore. Staring into blankness and occasionally speaking to other patients seemed to last an eternity, and Gerard no longer had an accurate sense of time. The only way he could understand whether or not a day had passed was when the sun rose again in the morning, a symbol that yet another day he would be confined to the white, sterile walls of the institute. 

He had come to the conclusion that his release, his transfer to another place would be good for him, it would give him a second introduction to the exact same people in the previous place. He had experienced too much exposure to the insanity, and he deemed this alone was bringing him to a point of mental illness alone. Some days he chose to accept his insanity, and other days he preferred not to, for those were the days when he wanted to pretend to be normal, normal in the sense he could have a family, he could be loved, he could be part of society without hurting everyone around him, eventually. 

So, it was when they dressed him in clothing he was unfamiliar with, that resembled that of regular dress, he came to the sudden realization this was actually happening, he was leaving everything he had held so secure for so long. He was leaving the reflectively white stone walls, he was leaving the fresh linen smelling sheets, he was leaving his desk in which he etched into a thousand times, he was leaving the graphite pencils and grainy sketchbook paper they supplied him with every month. And there he stood, at the entrance to the welcoming center, the exit door a few feet away, finally feeling the pain behind losing something. 

It was like the first time he came into the building, dazed by the sedatives he was on, yet, scared and shy, for he knew nothing but the home he had before this point. The younger man he once was, on his knees in the lobby, soul killed by the idea of being separated from the people he held close, screaming internally, “God forgive me.” He needed everyone there more than he would ever choose to admit, but he knew their significance in his life, Marybeth and Chance and Dawn, the crazy ladies who insisted on playing bingo every Saturday, and Matthew and Ray, the men who always selected going to the baseball stadium as the weekly activity. 

And as the security men stood behind him, each one on either side, holding his arms in one hand, firmly forcing him to continue walking forward, to the van, he let one tear fall. He watched with careful eyes as it slid down his cheek and towards the ground, the last piece of him that Gateway would ever see. And he didn’t want to be attached to the place, but he had grown here, matured and changed in ways it may seem unexplainable. He told himself it was basic human nature, and as soon as he had experienced a minor mourning moment, he would be fine, once again. 

And maybe, it appeared as if he was attempting to forget the years he spent there, just to feel less emotion, but with everything he had come to know in life, it was for the best, being hurt over a simplistic transfer to another mental health ward was nothing. Surely, there would be better care available there, better security, less toxic injections, and somewhat helpful therapy. Maybe they would provide better graphite pencils, maybe they would dedicate more time to him, maybe they wouldn’t treat him like he was just someone they were being paid to listen to, another insane person in a mental health unit.  
And the outside air felt refreshing, and as he was seated into a perfectly pristine white van, with the logo of the institute on the side in swirly font, he felt the impact of leaving. He felt a strong sense of loss, the first thing he “felt” in months. It was as if inside of the facility emotions were something that had been excluded from the moment he walked into the doors, the moment he looked Anne in the eye, the moment he met his therapist, the moment he had his first attack. And it was when all of these series of events happened that he began to isolate himself from others, and slowly discovered it wasn’t safe to trust others, to speak to others, to be around others. Trust was made for the people who could risk another knowing the problems which burdened them. 

But there was yet this deep, distinct pain he felt when he heard the engine turn over, when he saw the institute he had devoted so many of his years to, vanish in the distance. And when he looked forward, the never ending road ahead, away from Gateway, Los Angeles, California, to Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, Trenton, New Jersey. The people he had spoken to advised him to the new facility, considering it may help him with overcoming his issues concerning New Jersey, especially being closer to his home, in which his insanity grew to overwhelming levels. 

There were many times he had his, “privileges,” taken away due to his behavior, which typically meant he had been found looking through medical records and files concerning other patients, which eventually lead to the third lock on the door to the record room being installed. This was the first factor in Gerard’s transfer, he no longer had access to the records of other patients, which meant he had to attempt to make a diagnosis based solely on observation. Of course, he was intelligent and after only momentarily watching someone he could knew a more than considerable amount about the person, nonetheless, it was much easier to obtain facts that a person may keep concealed. 

But, Gerard knew that Gateway probably already informed the Trenton Unit that he was good at sneaking around and manipulating staff. The staff didn’t particularly trust him, and both of the nurses which were in charge of his cell, and the other five beside it, were well aware of his abilities. They knew he was prone to attempting to sneak out, stealing drugs from the medication rooms, getting into Dr. Ababenel’s office and stealing records on patients, and once broke through the “unbreakable,” and, “force resistant,” glass which covered the windows, giving the outside a painfully murky effect. 

He hadn’t seen the clouds in such detail, and it was more than he would prefer to say in which he couldn’t imagine what the clouds looked like, he was high off of hydrocodone or xanax and they blurred out more than the windows did. But, driving across the country for multiple hours on end, with extremely well monitored breaks, he was sober, and he felt empty inside, for once, entirely torn apart by both loss and gain, in which showed the true and unremarkable flaw within his nature, his, undeniably, human nature. 

~

It was when the gates to the other facility appeared in front of him that he began to feel a pit of nervousness, shyness, and general fear settle within the bottom of his stomach, swirling around with every step towards the iron wrought gate, much taller than him or any of the guards, surrounding the facility and locking off the majority of access to the outside world. The man standing to his right, whom was dressed in a classic black body shirt, firmly gripped his arm and spoke into a small voice projecting system beside the gate, eventually forcing them to open it and let the pair inside. 

The welcome center was where Gerard caught his first glimpse of everything, from the ancient chairs (signifying that the facility did not have the funding his previous one did), to the closeness between the desk and the large metal doors separating the mental patients from the rest of the world (obviously they didn’t attract many visitors). The woman working at the front desk wore a fake smile, makeup heavily applied to her face to hide acne scarring from her teenage years, and her dull eyes reflecting her lack of a relationship, slight depression, and extreme isolation aside from her job. 

She brought the phone (which appeared to be made in the 80’s) to her face, and informed the head psychiatrist that their “new fucking mental patient” had arrived. The Doctor appeared almost immediately, sliding his card through the door to unlock it, as the other guard forcefully pulled Gerard in the direction of the Doctor. His name was Mr. Samuels, and Gerard knew from second glance he was an M.D. doctor, he had studied for twelve years, was third in his class (barely considering he received understudy tutoring from another doctor of science), and had absolutely no intention of sparing him any mercy during his stay in the facility. 

Which, was very clear considering the guard was practically leaving bruises on his arm, and Mr. Samuels paid no mind, of course, he was very distracted in, “introducing,” Gerard to the hospital, which wasn’t necessary because the majority of the time he would be either locked away in a room, or escorted to therapy. He tended to try and avoid the game room, which had too much competition in checkers, and a entire crowd of people watching Wheel of Fortune like their life depended on it. 

Of course, according to the doctor, he wanted Gerard to, “Be welcome in every part of the facility and ensure that his safety is the top priority, may his needs be met because they were extremely important to the staff and everyone inside,” all of which were lies, probably repeated every time the institute received a new patient. That was alright, because eventually his needs were going to become their needs, because even if they imagined him to be a debilitated mental patient with no intentions of harm, he knew exactly how to manipulate the people in the facility, without their acknowledgement of it even occurring.

Nonetheless, he continued the dull tour, eventually being shown his room, informing him that his roommate would be in soon, especially since it was currently Lunch, but Gerard had eaten before he left Gateway. And the windows weren’t so locked up, they were on the third story, and the window wasn’t big enough to fit someone, but the sun still brightly shone through it, the wind drifting in, the screen knocked out from previous patients who had been in the room before him. He didn’t want to disrespect the place, especially the few things the New Jersey state government could fund. 

But when he stuck his arm through the window, and felt the breeze run along his fingertips, he couldn’t imagine how this wasn’t better than Gateway, because inside Gateway there was no exposure to the outside, it was simply an entire world within the inside of the place, filled with people who were identical to each other for different reasons. And yes, maybe Marybeth refused to leave her corner, and John spoke to the man in his pocket (he was severely deluded but he was interesting to speak to on the occasion), but it seemed as if it was still so far from society.

You don’t see schizophrenics going to work, speaking to the man in their pocket? Because it wasn’t normal, and maybe Gerard was more aware of that than he preferred to admit, but he was also aware of the fact had he said that he would be taken elsewhere, all over again to another treatment unit, where they would assess and psychoanalyze him all the way across the United States. It wasn’t something Gerard felt was necessary to be done, today, at least. 

Had he more dignity being a mentally ill person warded away from the rest of the, “sane,” people, he would be much more open to discussing his thoughts, but it wasn’t exactly desirable or even acceptable in some aspects, to be mentally ill. Normally, people associate the words, “mentally ill,” with dangerous, or retarded, developmentally slow, or defective. In a sense, people who were clinically insane were defective, but they weren’t like the one milk bottle who was bent in shipping. It was more like the one bottle of gatorade with a slightly misprinted label. People just happened to automatically assume that having an issue determined whether or not you could still function and have a personality.

Albeit, Gerard never liked to be the person who expressed his opinion, he had more than once spoken to people about this issue, and it seemed as if it meant nothing, because every college student and every parent who sees their child speaking to the people in the wall are scared, scared for what might happen to their child, but it’s never understanding because you have to experience it and see it from someone else’s perspective to cohesively understand. Which, is, the hardest part of therapy and all of the progress made in the “recovery,” was trying to get someone to understand your point of view, to try and show them why you’re in a mental health unit in the first place.

But Gerard didn’t want to continue dwelling on the subject, taking his rather cold arm from the window, resting his head on the sill momentarily, and returning to the small bed in which they had originally suggested he sleep. The room was simple, large enough to accommodate for two people, comfortably, with a bunk bed, and a desk, two closets, and a bookcase. Of course, there was three pencils already lined up on the desk, and a sketchpad was lying underneath them, his name written on the top of the sketchpad in swirly black Sharpie. They were trying to gain his favor already, and they were doing a decent job of it. Because Gerard only knew how to express himself in art, and maybe it made him feel like he had one thing he could consider secure to him. 

It was a few seconds after that thought had passed and he was again bored by the silence and white walls, in which his roommate came through the door, and much to his surprise, this man didn’t look like he belonged here. He had jet black hair (which had to no grease, reflecting he kept good personal hygiene), and hazel eyes (no emotions were seen and it was obvious he felt saddened, isolated, and depressed in this place), and he had light pink lips (they were chapped, bitten, showing he had been bored, nervous, or had a tick). He was very attractive, and if he had a decent personality it wouldn’t take long for Gerard to develop feelings for the man.

The boy gasped in shock, before stuttering out, “W-who are you?” Gerard chuckled at how afraid he seemed to be, but didn’t go into deep thought about it. “I’m your roommate, Gerard.” Gerard reached his hand out, only to be met with a look of fear as the boy cowered away, instinctually acting as if Gerard had the intentions to hurt him. “I’m not going to hurt you, I don’t see why I would ever need to, either.” The boy still continued to keep his distance, but mentioned a few things, along the lines of, “You get top bunk,” and, “Stay the hell away from me or your life won’t last much longer than it has,” and finally, “My name is Frank. We aren’t friends, don’t act like it.”

Frank was obviously all to hostile, in a defensive way, as if he had suffered severe trauma and was attempting to scare Gerard off, protecting himself from being hurt by anyone. “I will say this again, Frankie, I’m not trying to hurt you and you’re my friend. If you have to live with me every day for months on end, I highly doubt you’ll be wanting to hate every second of it. So tell me about yourself, I want to know what’s so glorious about your life that made you wind up here.” Gerard spoke, head cocked and face pulled up in a small smirk.

“I-I-I, I genuinely don’t know yet.” Frank stuttered, still surprised that Gerard was investing any time in getting to know him after his various threats. “That’s okay too. I mean, I’m here because I’m schizophrenic, have PTSD, etc. I read some of the records, the ones which were copied and secured in the record room at my previous treatment center.” Gerard mentioned, humming as he picked at his nails. “Why are you here then?” Frank asked, looking over to face him for once. 

“Because according to the doctors being closer to the place in which the traumatic incident occurred will help me cope with issues, as well as see the benefits of better care, and also have a new introduction to the mentally insane form of society, so that I will be less socially isolated. All of which, I highly disagreed with, but am coming to terms that it might be the my advantage, seeing as I hardly had anyone to speak with in my old unit.” Gerard explained, quickly explaining his entire background.

“I’ve been here for three years, and I can guarantee if I could be anywhere else in this world, I would be. The staff treat the patients with the least of care, nonetheless attempting to provide help, especially if you’re a more severe case like Ray or James.” Frank commented, obviously unsatisfied with the place. “Well, they’ve already tried to win me over with a sketchbook and pencils, all of which were recommended by my previous doctor, so, they’re doing fairly well so far.” Gerard laughed, pushing his greasy red mane back.

“They tried to bribe me with skittles. Skittles!” Frank joked, giggling and smiling with a set of white teeth which reflected the light from the window. “You should smile more often.” Gerard blurted, though not regretting it, he was just being honest, after all. Frank raised his eyebrow in a questioning manor, looking back at him with wonderset eyes too. “You look beautiful when you smile, you have a nice smile, and you need to show it more.” Gerard complimented, voice sincere and terribly true.

“T-thank you, no one has said that to me before.” Frank stuttered, blushing like a schoolgirl. It came to mind that Frank seemed very open when you got past the defensive part, which was nice considering Gerard didn’t have to spend a few weeks with him waiting for him to become comfortable enough to have a discussion, nonetheless laugh around Gerard. “They should have.” Gerard said, falling back on the bed. “I’m going to nap, do whatever they let you do in this little prison, because eventually, you’ll see, the only thing working is the gears in your mind as you wonder why they aren’t doing their jobs.” Frank commented, voice broken in a sense.  
He crawled up to the top bunk and resumed his position, letting Frank go back to the bottom bunk. He soon heard small breaths, coming from Frank in a deep sleep. And even as Gerard tried to nap, he couldn’t forget how nice Frank looked as he smiled and as the light adorned his face, all of his features up for show, displaying a pearly set of teeth. And, even Gerard knew, it would not take long at this rate, to love the boy who slept beneath him, the boy who didn’t know why he was here, but knew that he was, and had a personality that had yet to be completely broken by the psychiatric care he was receiving. 

~

**Author's Note:**

> I give up on this because I'm shit and so is my writing. x


End file.
